Imaginative Inquiries
by jgal747
Summary: Color. Creativity. Imagination. These are ideals that Eve Thaler hold in the highest regard, and tries her best to persuade other people of their importance. Gotham doesn't seem to understand that, though. And unluckily for its inhabitants, she'll stop at nothing until Gotham is transformed into her ideal city, painted red and, even to her surprise, green. Riddler/OC
1. Unlikeliness

**A/N: Well, hello there! This idea has been in my mind for an extremely long time, and I finally mustered up enough courage to put it up.**

**As always, reviews are extremely appreciated! I hope you all enjoy this little story of mine :D**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Arkham series. That should be pretty obvious.  
Rating: The story as a whole is T for cursing, violence, etc. Nothing too major.**

* * *

An inconspicuous young woman entered the art museum alone, her hands tucked safely into her beige trench-coat that was littered with dirt patches and tears. She stood horribly out of place in comparison to the posh goers of the museum, all celebrating the new arrival of a rather famous author's creation. The lone guard in the building nodded her in with hardly another thought.

She slipped into the crowd easily, maneuvering through the upper-class population of Gotham until she reached her destination. There was the painting, surrounded by people looking at it.

And she hated it.

Oh, how dull it was! It was called "_Gray Festivities,_" and festive it was _not._ Gray, all gray; different hues of the color practically splattered onto the canvas. From an artistic viewpoint, it was unique and quite creative. However, from her viewpoint, one full of color, she despised it. It seemed to suck all of her imagination away from just looking at it.

Her light green eyes scanned the crowd, pinpointing her associates amongst the people. All of them were staring back at her, awaiting orders. She averted her attention back to the painting and have a firm nod.

Then, pandemonium.

The man closest to the fire alarm smashed the glass and pulled the alarm, causing a blaring siren to screech throughout the entirety of the museum. Sprinklers from above turned on, drizzling everyone and everything. People began to shuffle out frantically, both men and women alike using purses and sleeves to shelter their hair from the water.

The woman did not leave, however, though no one noticed it. A couple of her men approached her, stepping over the red velvet rope to take down the painting. They moved towards the back door, ready to put the canvas in the old can for transportation.

She stepped over the rope too, producing two aerosol cans from her pockets, one full of red spray paint and the other blue. Shaking the cans, she then sledged her calling card onto the wall.

The woman turned and began to hurry out the back door, a smirk on her face from a job well done.

Firemen and police would be seeing her message soon; a solid blue heart and "_From, the Painter_" written in both colors.

* * *

A tentative knock on her door pulled her out of her stupor of work. Calling out a light "come in," the door opened to reveal one of her thugs standing there.

He glanced around the room, as he had never been in there before. It was her art room, her studio, where she kept all of her work. Her underlings weren't exactly allowed in there; it was off limits, but she never explicitly stated that going in there would mean dire consequences.

With good reason, too. The room was filled with her work, beautiful pieces of art that were so realistic, one could mistake them for photographs. It would be horrible if an unknowing thug knocked an easel over, or spilled her paint. The entire top floor belonged to her, seeing as she was the boss and all. It contained the studio, an office, and her bedroom. The bottom floor was designed for the thugs that needed shelter and for paint production.

"Is everything alright?" the saccharide voice of his boss said, pulling his gaze back to her.

The thug cleared his throat, stepping into the room more. "Uh, miss? You got cover page."

Her eyebrow cocked. "I thought I told you all to call me Eve."

The thug nodded, his greasy brown hair swaying with the movement. "Uh, right, mi- Eve. Sorry. I was workin' for Penguin 'fore you. He insisted on 'chivalry' and all that."

A scoff bubbled from her lips before she could stop it. Cobblepot, chivalrous? His English accent and proper attire had never fooled her. He treated his men like scum, as most mob bosses did.

Well, not her.

She wasn't sure if she could even count herself as a mob boss, but she liked to think she could; she certainly had enough men to qualify. However, it was the way she treated said men that made her think otherwise. She took it upon herself to give them shelter if they didn't have any. They all referred to her on a first-name basis. Her initiation wasn't too difficult, she thought. Yet, she instilled the fear needed in running a large amount of thugs with ever looming threats that she executed from time to time. Her fair treatment often brought thugs from other bosses to her, along with valuable information.

"Well, what's this about, us being on the front cover?" He handed her a copy of the "_Gotham Gazette,_" where the title said: "_FAMOUS PAINTING STOLEN: New Artwork In Museum of Art Stolen by the Painter."_

Eve skimmed through the article, not seeing anything note-worthy. It wrote about the crime scene itself and the GCPD's desperation to get the painting the back - and her behind bars. So dull it was that she handed it back to the thug, only to glimpse at another article and directly snatch it back. She began to pace while reading the story with vigor:

"_This latest robbery marks the tenth crime fashioned in the same manner, with a calling card left from the Painter at the scene. Could it be that this criminal - who is reported to be female - possibly be another Rogue?_

_"As other Rogues - master criminals that are highly wanted by the GCPD - use deadly tactics to execute their crimes, it is reported that the Painter also has an arsenal of acidic paint that is deadly to the touch. It was not used to harm people in her latest scheme, but the knowledge of its existence is dangerous enough._

_"If anyone has any information on this Rogue, please contact the GCPD immediately."_

Eve glanced up, a prideful grin spreading across her face. "They're calling me a Rogue now?" She chuckled. "I guess I've moved on up in the world."

The thug smirked. "Well, ya do have over a hundred men at your side, and enough of ya's paint to drown half of Gotham. That's enough to make anyone dangerous."

"...What's your name?"

"Uh, Ryan Daniels."

She squinted playfully. "I like you, Ryan."

* * *

Eve strolled down the practically empty street, a lighthearted expression on her face. Despite being sidetracked by the news of becoming a Rogue, she managed to finish her work and her thugs had taken it back to the museum for her. People had already noticed its return, beginning to say that the Painter "desecrated" '_Gray Festivities'_, but she liked to think that she improved it. She made it exponentially better, and certainly more colorful. Not an ounce of gray on the painting anymore; now it was truly festive.

Not even the fact that a few passersby had just… passed didn't seem to recognize her, anyway. Not many people did. The only feature GCPD and security managed to catch on camera was her hair - her black coffee hair that was always swaying around near her shoulder blades; something quite common in Gotham. Of course, they managed to see her overcoats, but through the homeless system, she always could switch her current coat for another one.

Besides, the homeless were her friends. She had been living with them for a time, anyway.

Her good mood had made her even more aware of her surroundings. Eve's gaze caught sight of a bright green light shining from in a valley. She warily stepped towards the light, a hand poised over her aerosol can of her acidic paint. Eyes tight, she stepped around the corner of the alley to see what it was.

She certainly wasn't expecting a statue of a green question mark.

That's all it was, really. The question mark glowed a neon green hue, and the base was all black. A curious thing; something she had never seen before. Granted, she had heard of a criminal that used question marks and riddles as means of his heists, but never really delved into trying to find information on other criminals.

The only ones she knew off the top of her head were the big ones, the ones that could cause her trouble. Cobblepot, Joker, Two-Face, Black Mask; that was it, really. All with mass amounts of manpower that could thwart anything she tried to do. All with thugs, and all with thugs that had switched over to her. Anyone besides those bosses - and their right-hand men (women in Joker and Cobblepot's cases), she never really cared to find out about. Of course, she could if she wanted to; it never appealed to her, though.

The brief notion of her lack of knowledge on other Rogues had slightly unnerved her. Perhaps she should start looking into them.

Eve blinked, focusing on the statue once more. It was clearly visible, that much was certain; the only problem was that it was tucked away behind and in-between a vent and some piping, just out of reach for most. That wasn't going to deter her, however. Eve knelt down onto the ground and stuck her hand in the opening, her long middle finger just grazing the top of the statue. It was cool to the touch despite its neon components, she noted. The sculpture wobbled, and another brush of her fingers managed to make it topple down into her hand. She maneuvered it through the opening and was eventually able to view it up close.

She like the design quite a lot. It was unique, bright, and colorful. With a satisfied grin, she stuffed it into her large handbag, intent on putting it up in her studio.


	2. Bargains

**A/N: Hello folks, I'm back with another chapter!**

**I felt like the stopping point between this one and chapter one was a bit weird, but ah well. These two are pretty short in comparison to later chapters; consider these two expositions of sorts. The next chapter is _definitely _longer, I can assure you of that.**

**Thank you for the review, Riskie-Dixie! And thank you to everyone who's favorited/followed this story!**

**I hope you like this chapter, and don't forget to leave a review!**

* * *

Eve huffed exasperatedly, a fingerless-gloved hand running through her hair.

What the hell was _that_?

She was standing in front of her warehouse, about to head in and work on a commission, when something caught her eye. Well, then again, how could she _not_ see the black envelope with a green question mark taped to the door?

Eve pried the envelope off the door and quickly stepped into the warm interior of her building. She hurried to the upper floors and into her office. She sat on her comfy rolling chair, her momentum rolling her across the floor to her desk. Brightly-colored fingernails slid under the envelope flap, prying it open cleanly.

Its contents included a simple card; nothing more, nothing less. She bit her cheek to stop the grin from spreading onto her face, seeing the colorful cover; it morphed various hues to portray a 50s-esque advertisement for a woman drinking soda.

Flipping open the card, however, was another story.

Grey. All grey. Grey background with darker grey lettering. Annoyance simmered in her chest. Whoever sent her this knew exactly her pet peeve, they had to!

Eve cleared her throat, trying to zone out and only focus on the text:

_"32 WHITE horses stamp, prance, and then stop on a rolling RED hill._

_What am I?"_

A smirk made an appearance briefly on her lips. She knew the answer, having been told it a few times during her life. "A mouth talking," she murmured under her breath. But what did that mean in context? Why was she sent a card with only _this _on the inside, no signature or anything detailing who it could be from?

Connections clicked in her mind and she averted her attention to the envelope. The neon green question mark brought an item of similar shape to her thoughts. Eve spun around in her chair to glance at the question mark sculpture she found two days ago. It was still glowing just as brightly as when she first picked it up. At that moment, she knew that the owner of the statue was the same as the one who sent her the card.

She stared at the card again, noticing that the words "red" and "white" were capitalized. What for? Obviously, they were meant to be emphasized. Was it merely because of her fascination, or was it another clue? "Red and white," she muttered, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers absentmindedly. "Red and white make… pink."

She hastily produced a piece of paper and her favorite pen from her desk, jotting down what she knew so far in her perfect penmanship: "_A mouth talking, clearly addressed to me, green question marks, pink…"_

It was while she was writing that she finally took notice of the cover of the card. What was the cover for? The woman drinking soda was just plain random. Another thing her artistic vigilance picked out was that the bottle of soda was obviously the focus point of the piece. She scribbled down "_soda_" as an afterthought.

Wait.

They way her list went put "pink" and "soda" side-by-side. "Pink soda," Eve whispered, realization hitting her like a bag of bricks. Pink soda, also known as _Peppy-Pop_, was an upcoming popular new beverage made by Soder-Cola, made famous by its bright pink color despite its lemon-lime flavor.

Eve bolted from her chair to stand in front of her window, sweeping her gaze across as much of the city as she could. There, in the far distance, a neon pink sign flickered high above the buildings and against the snow-filled sky.

Suddenly, it was as if a torrent of intellect opened in her mind, making one connection after another until all was clear to her. Revelation in mind, she stuffed her card and the statue into a bright bag and made her way out the door.

* * *

"'Ey, lady, whatcha doin' here?" the rough voice of a thug called out in front of her. He, along with a shorter and pudgier thug, were guarding a door littered with green question marks, and she knew at once that this was where she was supposed to be. Above them, the bright pink glow of the Peppy-Pop billboard shone softly down, casting a light reflection on everything.

The pudgy thug elbowed the other one roughly in the ribs. "Ya dimbus, that's a Painta'! Boss wants to see you, go on in," he said, flicking his bald head behind him, to the door. Eve nodded, took an unnoticeable but deep breath, and moved past the guards to open the heavily-greased door.

An uncomfortable feeling pooled in the bottom of her stomach. It was pitch black in the room. There was absolutely no light, not since the door behind her clicked shut on its own accord. Her senses were heightened; she could hear the soft dripping of a faucet nearby. "Hello?" she called out tentatively.

"Riddle me this," apparently, her senses were not heightened enough to hear anyone move to her left, where she immediately snapped her neck to, in order to try and discover the location of the one who spoke, _"What brings brightness to a person's day, but many people live in its opposite?"_ It was a light voice, almost singsong, one in which superiority practically seeped into every syllable.

Her heart began to race as she was put on the spot. People lived in the… "Dark," she murmured, realization dawning. "Light. The answer's light."

Suddenly, an overhead lamp turned on, providing Eve with the light to see her surroundings. It was a relatively small room, smaller than her bedroom, and it was impossibly messy. The wallpaper was peeling, stacks and folders of paper cluttered the floor, and rusting pipes were dripping from the ceiling.

And in front of her, was a man sitting on a sofa.

He was sprawled on it languidly, one arm thrown over the back cushions, one ankle resting on his knee. His other hand twirled a golden cane with a question mark as the tip. "Remarkable!" he praised, halting his twirling and tapping the cane onto the ground before pointing it at her. "I knew you had potential!"

Eve blinked. "Sorry?"

"You did figure out how to get here, did you not?" he asked, an eyebrow cocked.

"Of course I did," she snapped.

The man sighed, centering his bowler hat back atop the center of his head. "I've seen your work, Thaler. Quite impressive. You have exponentially more talent than others in this city. So new and upcoming, too; you don't even know who I am!"

"I do know you… Riddler." Not that she really knew anything _past_ that, but he didn't need to know that. She had only gotten his name out of one of her thugs, as she had begun to memorize each and every Rogue.

He gave a smirk. "As I said, smarter than most."

"I'm not smarter, I'm just more open-minded than others. That's what I'm trying to show people," she defended.

"As I am trying to show these buffoons how much more intellectually superior I am. It seems we both have something to show to others," he said, a knowing glint in his eyes.

"And…?"

"Do I really need to spell it out for you? I propose an alliance of sorts."

Eve scoffed. "Excuse me? I don't even know your _actual_ name."

At that, he stood up and smoothed out his suit jacket, allowing her to get a full glimpse of his outfit. It consisted of a green suit with golden question marks littering the fabric and purple lapels. A loose purple tie hung around his neck atop a loose white dress shirt. His hands were covered by purple fingerless gloves, not unlike her own. "It's Edward Nigma, or, as the world knows me, the Riddler. And you are Eve Thaler, a.k.a. the Painter. It's a… pleasure making your acquaintance. So, what do you say?"

Eve shifted, her brain whirring. "Well, what does this 'alliance' imply, Mr. Nigma?"

He shrugged, beginning to pace around casually, taking a few small steps towards her. "Oh, I don't mean a complete merging of our… efforts, but a few shared heists will do. See, you have manpower, something that I need. And you, well, you need money, and I can get you that."

The hairs on the back of her neck bristled at his cool statement. She crossed her arms, a physical barrier between them as she did the same mentally. "How do you know that?"

Edward stopped his trotting momentarily, an eyebrow raising in an 'you've-got-to-be-kidding-me' look. "Have you looked in a mirror lately?" An affronted look appeared on her face; how dare he? His expression broke and he chuckled, a wide smile parting his lips to reveal clean, straight teeth. "I'm kidding, of course! Your wardrobe could use a bit of a makeover, though; if you want to be a Rogue, you have to dress the part!"

Eve deadpanned. Here she was, wondering whether or not this guy was a dangerous as his title of Rogue implied, and there _he_ was, scolding her on dressing habits! Self-consciously, she glanced down at herself, then winced. Her once vibrantly rainbow-colored sundress was stained and washed, muting the colors, and her boots were practically falling apart. The only thing relatively new about her were her gloves, which she had found only three days ago… in the trash.

"Well, let's say I do accept to be your… ally, what would you have my men do?" she asked.

"I need men to go around placing my 'trophies' around a certain area," Edward explained simply, fiddling with his cane.

She mimed her curiosity and suspicion. "And where is this certain area?"

"Arkham Asylum. Ever heard of the place?" She grimaced, then froze. _Arkham Asylum?_ He wanted her thugs to hide his stuff _there_, disguising themselves as doctors and nurses or, even worse, inmates? Why the Asylum of all places? She voiced this question, to which he responded, "The reasoning doesn't matter. Not yet, at least. All I ask for right now is your trust."

Her brow furrowed on its own accord. Trust? They had just met mere minutes ago. There was no way she'd just simply trust him in a snap of his fingers. Besides, she didn't even know if she wanted to associate with him or not… or maybe she did. He spoke with such passion, such exuberance, that her artistic side automatically was appeased. He was seemingly much more (of her own form of) exciting than any other criminal, Rogue or someone more low-key, that she had dealt with in the past.

And maybe he could help get her money, or help her with her efforts. As long as she supplied manpower (which she was certain she'd never run out of), he would be alright.

Eve sighed, her thoughts clouding her mind until she decided to blow them away like a strong wind with a single answer. "I… suppose. It's not out of trust, though," she pointed a warning finger at him as his face began to light up, "I need someone who will help me get off the ground. But, why me? Out of everyone in Gotham, why me?"

His light eyes showed his amusement. "Well, to put it simply, you're a lot smarter than anyone else in the city. Just look at you; you're standing here. It might surprise you that I've offered this to a few other people before, but no one could figure out where to meet! So, that is why I want you to work with me, because you've already passed my first test."

She blinked at his explanation. If she wasn't aware that he was a narcissistic Rogue with a grudge against anyone with even a slightly-inane thought process, she might have blushed at the semi-compliment. "...Oh. Alright."

The Riddler practically danced closer to her, his steps more like skips. "I knew you'd come through. However, I do believe some trust is needed in order for our relationship to blossom." Without warning, he threw an arm around her shoulders and turned their bodies so that they were facing the door.

"So, how about we rob a bank together?"


	3. Disgruntlement

**A/N: Greetings! **

**Thank you to everyone who has read this and followed/favorited/reviewed! It makes me extraordinarily excited to see that people have been checking this out, and have been liking it so far. **_  
_

**So, without further ado, here's the start to a two-parter. Don't forget to leave a review!**

* * *

It was an unsurprisingly dull day in Gotham. The sky was overcast, the promise of rain certain and imminent within the next few days. Eve kept her eyes trained in front of her, determined to never glance up and catch a glimpse of the boring sky.

Something about gray just bothered her to no end. People said that beige was the blandest color, but she rejected that notion. Black and white weren't as bad, as they enhanced the colors around them. But gray? It sucked the life out of every hue, desaturating everything and ruining its value. Anything gray was simply lifeless to her.

Despite the ominous clouds, Eve's mood was purely the opposite of that. She was just returning from picking out some new clothes, and much to her delight, she felt they accurately portrayed what she wanted and what she represented.

However, her trip would've been more fruitful if her newly-acquired ally hadn't stopped in.

* * *

_The boutique seemed simple from the outside, with its modest display window and plain but pretty sign. Walking inside, however, told a completely different story. It was well lit, not a single corner in the shadows. It was a unisex store, with popular brands for everyone. The aisles weren't too crowded but weren't empty, either. Soft jazz played through the speakers despite the chic designs the store sold._

_Eve always loved shopping and fashion, but had never acquired enough money to actually go out and buy as much as she wanted. Now though, with the success of the recent bank robbery, her cut of the spoils was enough to pay the bills for a few months, as well as any debts she had gotten over the year or two she had been doing what she did. It was finally time to splurge a little bit on herself, she decided. Often times, she had thought about a signature look for herself. Fortunately for her, this particular boutique had quite a few garments that she often incorporated into her designs._

_Eve picked out a tight-fitting light blue tunic, one that reached down to mid-thigh, had long sleeves, and a v-neck that didn't cut too steep. Across from her, she spotted an orange infinity scarf. She eagerly added it to her collection, liking the complementary colors. A pair of dark red leggings came into her possession, as well two pairs of fingerless gloves, one pair purple and the other light orange. She finished her first outfit with a pair of shin-high black boots, adding neon yellow laces to her basket along with them. She spent a few moments simply admiring what she had; more specifically, the fact that she could afford what she picked out._

_"I think you would be better off adding some green to your collection," a voice said behind her. Eve turned to the owner of the playful voice, surprised and suspicious to see Edward there, smug like usual._

_She huffed, eyeing the stand she was standing near and opting to switch out her red leggings for green. "Better?" she asked sarcastically._

_He shook his head once and raised his arm, emphasizing the dark green trenchcoat he was holding. Eve stared at the garment for a moment before chuckling and shaking her head._

_Nigma looked affronted. "What are you laughing at? Even I would wear this!"_

_"It would look ridiculous with what I've picked out. Besides," she opened the coat and padded around on the inside, "it doesn't have any inside pockets."_

_He deadpanned. "That is the most insignificant excuse I've ever heard."_

_"Not if you factor in the need for a hidden compartment to store certain cans of paint," she quickly supplied, effectively silencing him. He sulked away momentarily to return the coat, annoyed and surprised he had actually lost an argument. That never happened. Never._

_Eve was standing near the dresses when he returned, staring at a colorful dress on the rack, one not unlike the tattered one she was wearing now. The decision to buy it was written on her face before she even moved to put it into her cart. All the while, Edward decided not to intervene anymore; not out of annoyance or embarrassment for losing the inane altercation, but to simply analyze her._

_She hated it. As she pushed her cart a little farther down to glimpse at the other dresses, she couldn't help but internally squirm at the feel of his eyes on her. She hated the feeling of being watched behind her back, even if the pair of eyes belonged to an accomplice that helped rob a bank with her a few days prior. Eve glanced at him sidelong, and he gave her a lopsided grin that was perhaps too cheerful for someone like him._

_Her jaw clenched. It appeared that she would have to be buying more clothes some other time, for she was certainly too distracted now._

_With that thought in mind, Eve proceeded to the check out. The cashier, a young, dark-skinned woman who was blissfully unaware of the person she was serving, gave her a wide smile and asked the typical question of, "Did you find everything okay?"_

_Eve nodded politely and waited for the cashier to ring everything up. The price was, well, pricey, as to be expected from such a chic store, but it easily fit her new budget._

_"Allow me," the ever-superior voice of Edward said behind her. She glanced back at him to see him pulling out a simple leather wallet from his pocket, take out a few bills, and put them onto the counter._

_"You don't need to do that," she huffed, her eye twitching in annoyance. Obviously she was capable of paying herself, so why couldn't she?_

_"But I insist. My treat. Plus, you… needed it," he answered, a smirk pulling at his lips. She scowled, once again thinking him more a fashionista than a Rogue._

_"Fine," Eve muttered in defeat, sliding Edward's money towards the cashier. The cashier took it without a word, a secretive smile on her face that immediately sent Eve wanting to slap it off of her._

_She handed Eve the receipt and the clothes in two bags, telling them both to "have a nice day," as per custom. It took all her willpower not to bolt out from the store, but Eve managed to calmly exit, not bothering to look back to see if Edward was following._

_She was about two minutes into her walk back to the warehouse when a sigh came from behind her. "What, not even a thank you? I'm disappointed in you, Eve. I thought you were more grateful than that."_

_The woman in question huffed before stopping to turn around to face him. "Oh, I forgot to get on my knees and begin to worship you, did I? Sorry, O Great One. I could have paid for that myself."_

_He raised his hands and ushered her to calm down. "Easy there. It's just clothes. I thought I was being courteous, for once."_

_A sigh of defeat escaped her and her shoulders slumped. "You're right, I guess, but… I had it, y'know? I'll have you know that this is the one of the first times in awhile I've had money to spend for my own leisure."_

_"Then why are you so adamant in spending it all instead of someone else doing it for you?" The question would have been a lot more sincere and thought-provoking if he hadn't said it with his typical snide tone._

_Eve shifted uncomfortably. "No one's ever done things like that for me. It just feels weird, you know?"_

_At that, he began to pace only slightly, something she noticed he did whenever a conversation began to last for more than a minute. "Ah, the solo person not used to help from external sources. I'm learning more things about you with every passing day, Eve," he said, a finger pointed at her at the last part. "It's all understandable. And I'm quite the opposite. I have many sources, but with no one to share them with! Well, not anymore, now that you're here."_

_"So… what? Are you going to pay for everything I do from now on?"_

_He chuckled. "Of course not! Prove yourself even more worthy, though, and you might get yourself a bigger cut of our spoils. You do need it more than me, right?"_

_She huffed. "When are you going to stop making fun of my poorness?"_

_"As soon as it stops being funny."_

* * *

Eve shuffled the bags in her hand the produce the key from her pocket, opening the door to her warehouse. She stepped inside and hurried upstairs to her room, tossing the bags down on her bed with the mental promise of putting them away later. She paused halfway down the hallway to her art room, noticing with suspicion that the door to her art room was slightly ajar.

She never left the door to her art room open.

Unease pooled in her stomach and she anxiously gripped the can of paint in her pocket. It might have been a simple case of forgetfulness on her part, that she didn't make sure the door was closed before leaving, but her gut was telling her that that most certainly wasn't the case.

With wary footsteps, Eve crept towards her art room, her index finger on the trigger of the can. She gripped the doorknob and pushed the door with force open, swinging into the room ready to spray any impostor.

Nothing was amiss.

Everything was exactly where she had left it. No pieces of art were missing. She had panicked over nothing. With that thought in mind, Eve sighed and she visibly relaxed, her arms falling to her sides.

"Sorry, toots," a high-pitched voice practically sang right behind her. "But we're gonna be needin' ya!"

Eve frantically turned around to face her impostor. All she saw was a blur of red, black and white, before a blunt object hit her over the head and she knew nothing more.

* * *

"Look what you've done, Harley! It's been thirty minutes and she's still not awake!"

"I'm sorry, puddin'! I didn't mean to hit her that hard!"

The two loud and bickering voices greeted Eve as she regained consciousness; them, along with a raging headache. Her eyelids fluttered open, and if she wasn't so groggy, she would have been panicked.

All she could see was a cracked and dirty white ceiling. In her periphery, though, she could just discern a green head of hair in the small distance. The room was quite small, but its lack of furniture made it seem the opposite.

"Well, well, well, I guess that's that. Good morning, sunshine! Sleep well?" the first nefarious voice almost purred. Eve shakily sat up, gripping her pounding head.

She finally managed to glance at the figure, and had to refrain from visibly gasping. Trademark green hair, white face paint, red lipstick, scars from the sides of his mouth.

The Joker. And, inevitably, Harley Quinn as well.

Two of the most dangerous criminals in Gotham, and arguably in the world.

With that thought in mind, Eve reached down to her pocket in an attempt to arm herself with her paint. The Joker saw what she was doing, and he smirked, waving his hand around. In it contained the canister she always had on her person. "Looking for this?"

No warning was given as he stood up and sprayed it in her direction. She panicked, flinging herself off the bed so she wouldn't get sprayed. Always being the one behind the canister, she certainly didn't want herself to experience its effects.

Her balance tipped and she turned herself to the left, falling off the bed so she was staring at the Joker's shoes.

The Joker laughed maniacally, holding his stomach as he continued to giggle. Eve glared at him as she slowly stood, her headache pounding against her skull from the sudden movements.

He turned to the cronie that was guarding the door, and suddenly sprayed it at him. The thug gripped his face as a horrible smoke emanated from it. His screams soon became gargled and eventually silent as the paint the Joker sprayed at his neck ate away at his vocal chords. He slumped down after a minute, his disfigured hand dropping to his side to reveal his lifeless, horribly eroded face. Skin and flesh were eaten away until it met bone, but some pieces still clung to his face to create a gory scene.

Harley let out a small cry at seeing the warped face, followed by, "Why would you even make that stuff, Evie?"

The Joker, however, had a far different reaction. "Ooh! This packs a punch!" he exclaimed excitedly while looking at the can. "I like it."

"Glad you think so," Eve mumbled. The dead body didn't unnerve her, not by a long shot, it was more the fact that the Joker had used nearly the whole can; complete overdose. That paint was expensive to produce. There was a reason she was living with scraps: she invested all her money on perfecting that formula, and the materials needed certainly weren't cheap.

"In fact," he continued, "this is just the reason I called for you, Eve! This paint stuff is pretty good, and I could sure use this for one of my plans."

Her arms crossed. "What does this plan involve?"

"Well, let's just say that it involves a couple of cops, your paint, and a photography studio..."


	4. Exasperation

**A/N: Hola, mis amigos! **

**And we finally get the conclusion to last chapter. I hope I didn't disappoint!**

**Thank you to everyone that reviewed and followed/favorited. I'd been really nervous putting this up, but now I'm infinitely more confident in myself! **

**I hope you enjoy this chapter, and don't forget take time to review!**

* * *

"He _what?_" Eve questioned, her eyes wide as she held the phone in her hand.

Harley Quinn's voice on the other end continued to sob, "_M-mistah J's been locked up! The B-bat got 'im!"_

She ran a hand through her hair, pacing in her art room. "Well, so? It's only Blackgate, right? That place has incredibly horrible security."

_"W-well, yeah, but still!"_

"And you have the manpower to get him out, right?"

"_Yeah..._"

"Well? Bust him out! It shouldn't take too much!"

It was as if a switch in Harley flicked. "_Listen, bozo. My puddin' is locked up 'cause of somethin' you helped with!"_

Eve paused in her steps, incredulous. She would hardly describe her part in his ridiculous scheme as 'helping'; she hadn't even gone _with_ him, for god's sake. He left numerous details out, but from what she had heard from it, she wasn't even sure why he needed her paint; he could have done everything perfectly fine without it.

Even then, it wasn't like she actually wanted to help him out. He was the Clown Prince of Crime, another Rogue with plenty of thugs under his wing. By that alone, he was competition for her. She was perfectly content with him being locked up for a time before he inevitably escaped again.

She shook herself, once again raking her hand through her hair. "It's not my fault he got caught."

"_But it should be! It should've been you locked up! Why didn't you go with him?_"

"Why didn't you?" Eve shot back.

The other end was silent for a small time, until Harley said, "_Mistah J didn't want me comin' along, that's all. You, though, you need to break him out. Oh, my poor baby, all alone in a cell..."_

"And how would I be breaking him out?"

_"Beats me! That's for you to figure out. Now scram, or I'll be comin' for ya, and this time I won't be using a bat!_" The line disconnected.

Eve clenched her jaw and then pinched the bridge of her nose. Oh, what had she gotten herself into?

* * *

"You _what_?"

Eve tapped her foot on the ground with her arms crossed, looking the very definition of impatient. There was no time to be wasted; Harley Quinn didn't give a time limit, but she could only assume she wanted the Joker out as soon as possible.

She hurriedly explained the situation to Edward and her thugs again, the latter group shifting nervously. Busting the _Joker_ out? From _Blackgate_? Did their boss have a death-wish or something?

Edward, on the other hand, didn't know whether to laugh at her misfortunes or slap her for her stupidity. He honestly didn't know _what_ was going through her mind when she agreed to help the Joker, nor what prompted her to take on the task of freeing him from prison all alone.

"Well," he started, "it would be wise to start forming a plan." He waited until all the thugs were done murmuring. "No doubt he's being held in the Intensive Imprisonment cells on the lower levels. I would say discretion would be the best way to break him out, but he's the _Joker_, a man built on his theatrics. He'll be likely to cause a rebellion or two before actually leaving, unless you can manage to convince him otherwise."

Eve stared at him when he was finished, her mouth slightly agape. Edward stared back with an eyebrow cocked. "What? I'm quite the supreme planner, I'll have you know."

She promptly shut her mouth and nodded. "Right... Well, I agree that getting into the prison secretly would do best, but I was thinking more along the lines of busting him out in plain sight."

"And just how would we accomplish that?"

"Oh, I have an idea…"

* * *

The plan was simple, really. Edward would take a handful of her men to cause a distraction in front of Blackgate. While the guards were busy with them, Eve and a few of her most-trusted things would sneak through the back and break the Joker free.

If only a riot wasn't already taking place.

It was painfully obvious when they rolled up to the prison in her spacey van. Fire was billowing from a few windows, and screams and hollers pierced the air.

Eve watch the situation unfold with building dread. "This isn't good," she murmured.

Edward, however, was staring at the chaos with delight. "Why not? The GCPD are distracted; it's our time to grab him!"

"The GCPD might not be the only people in there. This whole thing would've attracted Batman by now."

Edward raised a brow. "And what we were planning wasn't going to attract him?"

She waved him off. "We were only going to be a few minutes. This… this has probably been going on for awhile now." Eve sighed. "Should we even do this? It doesn't look like the Joker needs busting out."

"Harley Quinn won't know about this; her thugs are even more stupid than yours. They won't know about this. We still have to get him." She glanced at him, waiting for him to continue. Her gaze turned into one of confusion when he leaned back against the leather passenger seat and put his hands behind his neck, looking the epitome of comfort. "Well? The Joker isn't going to leave Blackgate by himself!"

"You won't be helping?"

He scoffed. "Eve, I may be your ally, but that doesn't grant you the right to drag me into suicidal situations."

Another sigh escaped her lips, and she unbuckled her seatbelt. "Fine. Keep a watch on the van, will you?" He gave her an indolent grin in response. Eve called back to her men in the back section of the van, and they all speedily exited the car.

"Follow the bloodshed," she said to her thugs, and they nodded. Wherever the Joker went, death and blood were sure to follow.

It was simple getting into Blackgate; the front door was still open. Eve eventually told her crew to split up amongst the chaos to try and find the Joker. It left her all to herself in a prison full of escaped inmates, but she didn't worry. She had brought two cans of her paint, as well as her wit. With those, she was nigh unstoppable.

She pushed through the entrance level, only spraying a few people that tried to stop her. The last one, she only sprayed on the hand, intent on getting answers from him. As he was on the floor in a fetal position, whimpering while cradling his destroyed hand, she asked him, "Where's the Joker?"

Through his quivering breath, he managed to choke out, "I-in the Warden's Office!" Content with his answers, she brought one of her new black boots down upon his head, knocking him out.

As much as she didn't want to admit it, she had gotten lost twice on the way there. Eve huffed in triumph when she finally reached the door to the office. The mahogany door didn't squeak as she opened it, allowing her to get a clear, unhampered view of the Joker. He was dressed in his trademark purple suit, making her wonder if he had an extra pair tucked away in Blackgate (and, she presumed, the Asylum as well). He was leaning over a desk, watching the pandemonium unfold below from a large window overlooking the prison cells.

Eve panicked for a moment. How was she supposed to convince him to leave with her? He looked to be enjoying the mayhem, so why would he want to leave?

Then, she thought, maybe she wouldn't give him the chance to refuse.

The noises of the rebellion drowned out her footsteps as she crept quietly behind him. A small but heavy statue made its way into her hand. It looked to be in the image of an angel, and she hoped the warden wouldn't mind a bit of face paint on it.

When she was directly behind him, she murmured a light, "Hey." He speedily turned, intent on finding out who was interrupting him, when she whacked the statue up the side of his head. She knew the Joker had seen it coming, but it was simply too late to stop it.

Eve stared down at his crumpled form, now realizing her dilemma. She had an unconscious Joker, and she wasn't exactly the strongest; there was no was she could carry him back to the van.

Her answer came in a rush near the door. From the colorful armbands around his biceps, she knew he was one of her men. Upon closer inspection, she realized he was Ryan, the thug that had handed her the newspaper a few weeks ago.

He stared down at the Joker, incredulous. "_You_ did that?" he asked.

Eve scratched her head. "I guess so. Mind giving me a hand?"

* * *

"Get out of the seat."

Edward's eyes shot open from the brief nap he accidentally took; hardly getting any sleep for the past week was beginning to take its toll on him. He glanced over to see Eve standing with the door open. Looking a bit behind her, he froze.

_What_? She did _not_ knock out the Joker. That was just something someone didn't _do_. Yet, there he was, limply hanging as one of her thugs held him over his shoulder.

He must've taken too long to act for Eve's liking, for she grabbed his arm and roughly pulled him halfway out of the van. Despite the sudden action, he managed to neatly land, smoothing out his suit jacket as he did so. The thug threw the limp Joker into the shotgun seat and buckled him in.

Without hesitation, Edward said, "I'm driving."

"What?" Eve asked, not exactly feeling like it was the right moment to be arguing.

"I am not sitting with those neanderthals that work for you. Their stupidity might rub off on me."

She was a bit insulted by his jab at her thugs, but huffed, "Do you even know where Joker's place is?"

Of course he did; why would she even ask that? "Do you?" he challenged. He watched her replicate a fish, her mouth opening and closing slightly as she mentally searched for an answer. "Didn't think so. Now, give me the keys."

"As much as I enjoy watching an old married couple bicker, I'd like to go home now," a voice behind Edward sighed. He turned to glare at the now-awake Joker, his stare having the capability to freeze Hell over.

Eve pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine, Edward. Whatever." He lit up at the victory, catching the keys and walking around the van to to driver's seat. Eve shut the Joker's door and hopped into the back of the van, maneuvering her way until she was directly behind the front seats and able to see them through the little window that connected the front and back.

The Joker giggled merrily. "Ooh, already using first names, now? I haven't even hit that base with Harley!"

"Shut it, clown," Edward huffed, starting the engine and driving off.

About a minute into their drive, the Joker turned in his seat to face Eve. "That hit hurt, y'know! I think I deserve an apology, wouldn't you agree?"

She glared at him. "Call it payback for you kidnapping me." He seemed satisfied by her answer, even excited, and settled back into his seat.

They were nearly at their destination of the Joker's "Funlands", and Edward was just about ready to pull his hair out.

The Joker just would not. Shut. _Up_.

The fifteen minute drive seemed like a fifteen _hour_ one with his incessant talking and cackling. He seemed to blurt out whatever crossed his mind, ranging from how much rain he thought Gotham was going to get, to how nicely the Batman would look on the floor bleeding (the Riddler agreed, but he was too annoyed to properly answer). A look into the mirror also revealed that Eve looked ready to strangle the clown.

When they reached the "Funlands," it took all their willpower not to just shove the Joker out of the van. "Well, you two, it's been a blast, but I've got to go. Thanks for the ride!" With that, he skipped out of the van. Edward wasted no time in stepping on the gas pedal and drove them back to Eve's warehouse.

* * *

Eve watched her thugs saunter back into the warehouse, all as tired as she was. The day's events were beginning to wear on her, and all she wanted to do was eat and then sleep. Judging by his slumped shoulders and the prominent bags under his eyes, she knew Edward felt the same. She felt a small pang of guilt at dragging him into this mess, knowing he probably didn't need to come in the first place.

So, she acted on it. "You can stay here for the night, if you want," she offered. He gazed at her sharply, his stare piercing through the darkness of the night.

"And why would I accept?"

She huffed; why did everything have to be such a hassle and a struggle? "Because you're tired and I just bought groceries yesterday."

To her surprise, his gaze softened and he nodded. "I suppose so," he sighed, but secretly he was quite thankful. It was quite the walk to his base of operations, and he certainly didn't feel like he had to energy to walk back.

"I'll warn you," Eve said as she began to make her way towards the door inside. "I'm a horrible cook. I've never really learned before; I never had the time nor resources."

"Was it because you were so poor?"

Her hand was hovering over the doorknob when she froze. "Yes, because I was poor, Nigma. What other reason would there be?"

A glance at her expression told her she wasn't as playful about the situation than he was. "Cranky when tired?" he guessed, an eyebrow raised.

Eve opened the door with a huff. "Cranky when being made fun of."

He promptly closed it before she could step through, still leaving them outside, Eve trapped underneath one of his arms. "I'm not making fun of you, Eve. I'm trying to get you to acknowledge your past."

She glared up at him. "And why would I want to remember my past? I hated it, and I'm turning over a new leaf."

"Because it's what we all do. Every Rogue has accepted their past, embraced them, even. If you want to keep up with us, you will, too." Of course, he didn't like his history; being abused was never something one wanted to remember, but he pushed through it. He let it inspire him, even, to prove to his father _just_ how much more superior he was to him. Not like his father could see him, though, but that didn't matter; the thought did.

Eve chose not to reply, but simply think on his words. Her childhood wasn't as bad as it could've been, but it certainly wasn't one she recalled fondly. After a moment, she nodded. Edward nodded back, only partially pleased with her answer.

Eventually, he pulled back, opening the door for her and stepping inside. After a quick meal, she showed him a couch in her office, and soon left him to his peace. It wasn't even five minutes before he dozed off.

He hadn't slept so well in a long time.


	5. Misunderstandings

**A/N: Hello once again!**

**So, the next few chapters (Four by my count, including this one) might seem a bit... odd? I don't know. Point is, is that they're more or less going to be snippets of Eve's interaction with other criminals (because seriously, what's a Rogue if they don't interact with other Rogues?). They should be pretty good ways to delve into Eve's character, if I do say so myself.**

**And I don't think I need to put this up, but for those who are sensitive, a certain character in this chapter has a bit of a _potty_ mouth...  
The pun will catch up to you once you read it.**

**Anyway, thank you for all the reviews/favorites/follows! I'm so inspired by them to keep working! **

**Enjoy this (rather short) chapter, and don't forget to drop a review!**

* * *

The wind blew against her back as she stood at the docks, watching her thugs take crates off the ship. Her hair whipped wildly into her face, making her glare in annoyance. The darkness was banished by streetlamps, and she was standing just out of the spotlight of one.

Suspicion made her narrow her eyes even more. Eve had overseen the shipment of the chemicals needed to make her paint an interminable amount of times, and there were far less crates there than usual. She figured that someone else had picked up their crates early, but it still sent her gut clenching in dread.

When one of her thugs brushed by her with a crate in hand, she ordered him to stop and open the box. He did, and she peered inside. There were tiny, see-through capsules that contained pills. They were of a white color, and a normal size; not too big, not too small. Eve opened a case of pills and took one out. While a solid pill, some powder rubbed off on her fingers. There were no imprints on the pill, making it impossible to determine from appearance only.

She glanced at her thug, who was looking at the pills with her behind her back. His skin was a sickly pale, and the breath he was exhaling over her shoulder had a stench that smelled strongly of marijuana. There was a very real chance that his apparent history of drugs could be beneficial to her. Eve handed him a pill. "Can you identify this?"

He sniffed the pill, then, to her disgust, licked it. A second passed before he said, "Ah man, this is PCP!"

She blinked, memories racing past her mind. She was no stranger to drug names and their properties, since her blasted parents had rather spent money on them than pay for food.

PCP, or phencyclidine: could be taken orally or crushed into a fine powder and snorted; known for its side-effects of giving the user disorientation, extra strength, detachment, hallucinations…

Hallucinations… and _fear._

Eve tossed the capsule case into the crate and ran a hand through her hair, beginning to pace. Of all people, why her? Why did _her_ shipment need to get switched/taken by _Scarecrow_?

For confirmation, she dug further into the crate, finding a few other unnameable substances, but her go-to man for drugs confirmed them to be chemicals used in toxins, as well as creating hallucinogenic side-effects.

A spew of expletives left her mouth, the word _Scarecrow_ being thrown in there a few times. The thug scratched his hair through the ragged beanie on his head, asking, "Eh, why do you think this all belongs to 'Crow?"

She stopped momentarily, glaring down at the crate. "Who else uses this many hallucinogens?" Certainly no usual criminal, that was for certain.

And she hated it.

Eve certainly didn't place Scarecrow as high on her list of favorite criminals (not like she had one). As the Master of Fear, he prohibited free thought by incapacitating a person's mental thought process. He stunted, if not completely stopped, the growth of imagination and creativity in a person, the very things she was trying to get everyone to excel in.

There was no doubt Crane was aware that he received the wrong shipment already, and she had not a clue what to do.

Well, she didn't, until the shadows around her distorted and the streetlamp eventually flickered out. Her senses were immediately heightened with her loss of sight in the dark, her hand digging into her pocket to grip her can of paint. "Who's there?" she called out, having two guesses on who it was.

"You have my shipment," a malicious voice drifted into her left ear, causing her to turn in that direction.

"And you have mine," Eve replied blindly, her voice portraying more confidence than she felt.

"That I do. I believe a trade is in order." She squinted in suspicion. The darkness, the disembodied voice, it all seemed a bit too theatrical for a simple trade.

"We can do it here, if you turn the lights on," she said.

Scarecrow chuckled. "Oh, but I don't have your supplies on me. I believe I left them somewhere else…"

Eve glared to the darkness. "Where?"

All was silent for too long for her liking, until he murmured, "In the sewers."

She honestly didn't know if she wanted to deadpan in annoyance or punch the dark in the hopes that he would be there. Instead, she clenched both her fist and her jaw. "Where in the sewers?"

"Underneath the Police Department. But who knows, perhaps the police have already found it," Crane replied with a deep laugh. "I suggest searching for them soon." With that, the light flickered back on, and all the crates were gone.

Eve's eyebrows furrowed deeply in her glare. Her high thug blinked indolently, stumbling backwards while looking in front of him with surprise. She watched him murmur a few words under his breath and then realized that he had taken the PCP pill that she had given him to examine. Eve punched him across the face for his insolence and then stalked off, furious beyond belief.

She needed to punch more people.

* * *

_The sewers reeked._

That was the only thing in Eve's mind as she waded through about an inch of sewage with a flashlight in hand. She crept along the edges of the sewer pipe, but some of the disgusting liquid still covered the ground. Worse yet, she had swapped out her new boots with her old ones, since she didn't want to get the new ones covered with sewage, but she had forgotten to realize that her old ones had small holes in the soles, letting dirty water into her shoes.

This was quickly becoming one of the worst days of her life.

Behind her were two volunteer cronies that willingly followed her down into the sewers. She frankly thought they were idiots for coming, but appreciated the support.

They entered the sewers near the Police Department, like Crane had said, but so far there were no clues that her crates were here. It led Eve to believe that he simply tricked her, to get her out of the way so he could get his supplies.

Or, she thought as fear gripped her heart when she heard a large amount of water ripple behind her, maybe Scarecrow wanted her dead.

Really, how could she have been so _stupid_? Edward would've smacked her for her idiocy, and she was sure he was going to if she ever got out alive. Through her desperation to get her supplies, she had completely forgotten about who practically owned the sewers: Waylon Jones, or, as the world knew him, Killer Croc.

It was as if mentally uttering the name had set off a chain reaction of events. The water splashed and a resounding roar echoed throughout the sewers. A scream followed it, as did the sound of bone breaking. Her hair whipped about her as she turned around to shine her flashlight on what was happening, and found herself frozen.

Croc was there, one of her men in one giant hand and the other beneath his foot. When she brought the light up to his face, he snarled, a hand covering his eyes at the sudden bright light.

He looked down at her with ill-contempt, but she stared wide-eyed up at him with a grin minutely tugging her agape lips. Croc's upper lip pulled up as he dropped the body in his hand.

"What the hell's your problem, bitch?" he growled.

Eve simply stood there, wonder seeping into her eyes. _How_ did someone like him _exist_? He was like no person she had ever seen before, what with his gargantuan size and reptilian skin. Never mind the razor-sharp claws that could tear her in two, he was so _unique_. What she wouldn't do to sketch him…

Croc snarled again, taking a massive step toward her. _That_ snapped her out of her thoughts, and she fumbled with the flashlight while stepping back a little bit. "N-nothing," she said, the tremble in her voice there from her excitement (as well as fear, but the former feeling was much more prominent).

"You even know where you _are?_ I could've ripped your heart from your body by now," Croc said. Seriously, what the hell was she doing there? No one ever ventured down into the sewers, all because of _him._

Eve could only breathe a laugh, her heart racing from the rush. "Yeah, but… the pictures don't do you justice, Croc. You are truly… breathtaking."

His yellow-green eyes narrowed. "The _fuck?"_ Her fascination with him was cut short when he hollered, "You've got to be fucking _kidding_ me! Who the hell do you think you are, bitch?"

She gulped, her eyes flicking to a ladder just a few feet to her left. There was no way she could escape and continue her trek through the sewers; she had to get a new shipment of supplies. "I think I'm the Painter, and I think it's time… for me to go."

She spun on her heel and jumped up two rings on the ladder, hauling herself up with more speed than she thought she had. She ignored Croc's indignant shout of, "Hey! Get back here!" Her hand shoved the manhole cover off and she pulled herself up into the night. She hurriedly put the cover back on, muting Croc's furious roars at her escape.

Eve sat down for a time, catching her breath. Did she really just escape _Killer Croc?_ Never mind that, he looked… she shook her head when her mind could only come up with the word _awesome._ The abnormal scales, the sewage water glinting in the flashlight, the blood of her men spilling down his clawed hand… she believed she found the most unique person out there.

She inhaled deeply and sighed just as heavily, a hand on her forehead as she calmed down. She had just lost two men, but they were replaceable. If anything, she was more upset that her shipment was wasted, probably not even down there.

Oh, she was going to kill Crane if she ever had the chance.


	6. Suspicion

**A/N: Guess who has returned!**

**Thank you to the reviews. I understand that this story isn't perfect, as it does have some pretty questionable plot points and whatnot, and I know that now. This is for me and all of you who read this, and I appreciate being told about it. I'm sorry if this isn't absolutely amazing/perfect/completely realistic, but this _is _fanfiction. Sorry for the rant -_-.**

**Thanks to all the follows/favorites once again! We hit over 500 views of this story, and that makes me so happy and excited! **

**A line in here was added in as a homage to _Rehaniah's _"Hey diddle, diddle, time for a Riddler-er," one of my favorite one-shots in this fandom.**

**Without further ado, here's the next chapter, one that zooms in on just how Eve interacts with her thugs. **

* * *

Eve stared at the line of men in front of her, her arms crossed and a pensive look on her face. All stood straight, with broad shoulders and hard-lined faces. They looked weak though; bags were under their eyes and their faces seemed sunken.

She stepped towards one cronie, a man about a foot taller than her (and she was no small woman), and she asked, "Where did you come from?"

"Cobblepot, ma'am," he answered, staring straight ahead, like she was a drill sergeant and he was a newly-recruited soldier. She nodded and continued down the line, asking the same question…

And receiving the same answer.

She stepped back to look at the men, around a dozen or so in number, her green eyes narrowed. Whenever she got recruits, they were always from random bosses, or just off the streets, needing work and shelter. They were never all from the same boss, like now. She recalled her other influx of thugs from the week prior, the majority of them saying they were part of Cobblepot gang beforehand, too.

It was entirely all too suspicious for her, and she was determined to figure out why.

Eve wasn't exactly a caring person; she detested the majority of the human race for their blandness. A fair number of people simply got up, went to work, and then went home, with no real ambitions or creativity to spice up their lives. Then there were the bullies that squashed creativity. She could never figure out which one she disliked more.

That being said, she had a soft spot for those that worked under her, made evident that she gave them shelter if they needed it - what kind of mob boss did that? Subsequently, if a number or new recruits were coming from a single boss, all looking emancipated, she didn't like it. She didn't like it one bit.

Eve glanced sidelong at Edward, who was leaning on a column that held up the lower floor of her warehouse. "Well?" she asked him.

He was also analyzing the thugs, and he shrugged, "They're your mooks."

"But they might be doing your bidding in the future. You still haven't given us instructions for those… trophy things."

"All in due time," he sighed while kicking himself off the column to stand next to her. His arms were crossed, too, and after a brief moment, he nodded. "They look reliable. Still stupid as anything, but reliable," he said, earning a brief glare from a couple of the people in line.

Eve nodded, agreeing silently. "Alright, all of you. Welcome to my little group. Of course, we'll be needing some initiation, but I don't think it'll be too hard for you guys." She held up her hand and motioned for one of her thugs to come forward. He was carrying a cardboard box, and held it out for her. She dug inside to pull out a small, cheap, disposable camera.

She continued while slightly pacing, "My initiation consists of this: you all will go around Gotham, taking pictures of the most colorful places you can find, whether it be actual color or creativity. Each of you must present five pictures." There was a slight murmur throughout the potential recruits: how simple!

"However," she stopped and motioning for another thug to come forward. She pulled out a paintball gun and pointed it to the recruits. "Each of you will also be equipped with one of these. If you see another recruit while out, you must either shoot or escape. Don't think this is just a simple game of paintball, because…" To prove her point, she shot a the ground in between her and the recruits, a green splatter hitting the cement floor and sizzling, showing its acidic properties. "Get hit and you're out. Permanently, most of the time. Now, manage to snap all five pictures as soon as you can and return as quickly as possible, and you're in.

"Rules: No shooting civilians and no cheating. My trusted men will be watching from everywhere, so don't think you can find a loophole throughout all of this; there is none. There's a one block radius around this building, as a safe-zone, so no shooting in it. There will be a two hour time limit. Clear?"

The recruits shifted nervously, now realizing how dangerous this could be. Of course, it wasn't as brutal as Cobblepot's initiation, but it could still be deadly. No one said anything, so she assumed they all understood perfectly.

Eve nodded. "Good. You'll be given jackets to distinguish recruits from civilians, and don't think you can take these off; like I said, no cheating, because we _will_ catch you." And so the prepping began. The recruits all shrugged on light neon jackets, the colors ranging from pink to green to yellow to blue. They all received the cameras and paintball guns.

Since there were twelve recruits, she ordered twelve of her official thugs to pick a recruit to watch over from a distance, only the official thugs had pistols on them should anything go awry. They all waited by the door for Eve, and eventually she came, with Edward in tow.

Frankly, he was fascinated with her initiation process. It was creative, and made one think, use their wits. It was a game of think or be killed, and he liked it. He also appreciated the way she commanded, they way she instilled instant respect for her into the recruits. A partner that led, now _that_ was a good ally.

Eve started the timer and watched as the twenty-four thugs rushed out of the warehouse and split off into different paths. Edward piped up, "So, what will we be doing in the meantime?"

She bit her lip, contemplating. "I'm going to talk to Cobblepot." With that, she turned and began to make her way upstairs to gather some things. Edward honestly thought he heard her wrong, and bounded up the steps after her.

"What?" he said once he was behind her. She entered her office and headed towards the safe she had installed into the wall. "You're going to just _talk_ to Penguin?"

Eve shrugged. "That, and maybe I'll buy a few guns from him. With all these new recruits, I'm running low on firepower."

He shook his head, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Riddle me this - _I am born from naivety, and your knowledge depends on how much of me you own."_

She sighed, contemplating for a moment, before giving him a deadpan expression. "Ignorance. I've got to say, that's not your best riddle."

He nearly groaned in frustration, instead favoring to take off his bowler hat and run a hand through his messy hair. "I'm trying to tell you how truly naive you are if you think you can just talk to Cobblepot and pick up a few guns in the process. That imbecile would just as soon throw you into his museum than actually have a conversation with you."

She paused in contemplation, then shrugged. "I'll find a way to get my answers without trying to insult him. Trust me, I'm good with words."

At the determined look in her eyes as she turned to face him, he knew her decision was final. As infuriating as it was, he had no choice but to let her go. Maybe then she'll see just how wrong she was about Cobblepot.

He was just about to express his begrudging consent, when a thought made him pause. "And just what will you do if you won't come back in two hours?"

She shrugged. "Guess you'll have to do the ceremony. It shouldn't be too tough for you."

* * *

Eve stuffed her hands into her pockets, her chin burrowing into her infinity scarf to stop the chill from reaching her face. The winter in Gotham certainly bit, what with the wind chill making it feel exponentially colder. Worst yet, it was only the beginning of winter, and the early coldness promised a harsh season as they went along.

She glanced up when she spotted blue-neon lights shining down on the ground. The '_Iceberg Lounge._' Two men dressed in dapper suits guarded the front door, and when she approached them, their perpetual frowns deepened.

"You have a reservation, ma'am?" the dark-skinned guard on the right asked.

Eve faltered, but quickly regained herself. "With Cobblepot, yes. I'm here to discuss… some questionable topics with him, if you understand what I mean," she lied.

The bouncers didn't look impressed. "I'm sure. Now if you'll please, get outta here."

Her brow furrowed, as she had expected something like this. "Now, now, gentlemen. I'm sure you two could be… persuaded, to let me in?" From her pocket, she minisculely showed them a wad of cash.

They glanced at each other, then looked back at her with equal smirks. "I'll take you to him," the one on the right said, moving to the door. While she passed the left bouncer, she handed him a few hundred dollar bills, nodding once at him.

The interior of the lounge was elegant, to put it simply. Tables sat around the circular room, velvet curtains giving privacy to those who wanted it. The lighting was dim, and smoke from the cigars around the room wafted through the air. Light laughter and the drabble of the conversation provided background noise to the alto saxophone performing on the stage in the center. All in all, Eve thought the place was lovely, and wondered if one of her recruits would feign still working for Cobblepot to come inside and snap a picture.

The bouncer led her around the tables and to a back door, away from prying eyes. He ushered her down the halls, into a spacious office. Various paintings of the Cobblepot family hung around the peeling walls. From behind the desk, sat a short man smoking a cigar. The bottom of a glass bottle was gruesomely lodged into his left eye. With his long nose, balding head, and short stature, she could easily see why they called him 'Penguin' behind his back.

"Who the 'ell is this?" he gruffly asked while pointing his cigar towards her momentarily, his cockney accent thick.

The guard replied, "She wanted to talk to you about some under-the-table deals."

"And you didn't stop to think that maybe I didn't want to have visitors tonight?" Cobblepot seethed.

The guard flinched. "Sorry, sir."

The man at the desk sighed, then nodded in acquiescence. "Ah, what the 'ell. I'm feelin' generous tonight. Sit, and you, get out of here." The bouncer hurriedly escaped from Oswald's piercing gaze. "Filthy buggers, the lot of 'em. Weak, too."

As she sat down at the desk, Eve lightheartedly asked, "Your men feeling down?"

He shrugged. "I've 'ad to make some cuts in pay to my mercs." She winced, knowing Cobblepot didn't exactly pay his thugs a lot as it was. "Most of 'em can't buy food anymore. But let's not dwell on that. After all, my little rut could end with you, I hope?"

Eve grinned, already halfway complete with her business here. So, she had discovered that many of his people were leaving him (to her, often times), because they simply couldn't pay for necessities. She had to refrain from chuckling at Penguin's misfortunes. If she didn't actually need weapons, she would leave him to fall even further behind with money (even if he wouldn't stay down for long), just so more people would convert over to her.

"I might not be able to completely bring you back, but I can help," she said airily, seeming all the world too cheerful to be dealing in the black market. "I'm looking for some guns."

A smirk tugged at Cobblepot mouth. "And what kinds of guns can I get for you, young lady?"

"A few submachine guns, some shotguns, and maybe five sniper rifles," she stated plainly.

The smirk wiped itself off his face. "Come again?"

"I said I needed firepower."

He adjusted in his seat, moving to lean closer to her. "I don't think you understand my question; I meant to ask, w_hy do you need so many guns_?"

Eve shrugged, picking at her fingerless gloves. "And I'll give the same answer: I need firepower. Look, I'm willing to pay for it, so it shouldn't be a problem, right? I promise that I won't use it to attack you or anything, if that's what you're concerned with." No, she wouldn't use them to fight against him _directly_; she would give them to his ex-thugs and cause general chaos that could potentially harm Cobblepot's business.

Penguin opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it promptly, a look of distaste on his face. "I suppose so, but you've yet to tell me of your name, miss."

She clenched her jaw, not wanting to tell him her true name, lest the newspapers one day discover it and blare it out to the world for everyone (read: Oswald Cobblepot), to hear about. "Vela Ether," she lied, thinking of an anagram of her real name on the spot.

"Well, Miss Ether, I'm willing to do a little trade, if you are."

An hour later, she walked herself out of the '_Iceberg Lounge,_' her pocket considerably lighter of money, and a slip of paper detailing the time and place her guns would be dropped off at in her hand.

* * *

Two hours had passed, and Eve was nowhere to be found. Not in the warehouse, at least, which was what Edward was most concerned about. For, now, ten recruits had returned, along with their respective thug that followed them. Two thugs had to carry dead bodies back, one of the recruits being shot in the neck, and the other having an interminable amount of paintball-sized holes throughout his body, making Edward question if those paintballs were actually stronger than bullets.

So, he had to do this blasted ceremony by himself.

The thugs shrugged off their jackets and handed their cameras to a long-haired thug, who put them back in the box. They lined up in a similar order than they were two hours ago. Edward stood in front of them, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his suit jacket, hardly knowing a thing to do. Of course, there was the usual 'congratulations, you've made it' nonsense, but he had never actually seen one of her ceremonies, so how did she expect him to do one for her?

One of her men, one with long, greasy dark hair that he thought he recalled seeing when they busted the Joker out two weeks ago, approached him warily. When he didn't say anything, Edward raised a brow. "Well?"

He seemed to snap out of it, and cleared his throat. "Uh, right. So, listen, I've been in Eve's gang for a pretty long time. I've seen plenty of these things before, and uh, if you needed me to, I could do it…?" His words became more sheepish as Edward's glare intensified.

"Are you insinuating that I have no idea what I'm doing?" Truth be told, he didn't, but no one else needed to know that.

The man quickly backpedaled. "Uh, no, not at all. I just- you know what, sorry I asked. I'll just be... over here," he finished lamely, sulking off to the side, unaware of Edward's smirk behind him. Now _that_ was a proper reaction to being bested by the Riddler.

He turned his attention to the new men, the thought of _now or never_ crossing his mind. "Well, you all did what was asked of you. I suppose a congratulations are in order. Quite frankly, I didn't think half of you would've gotten through this; you all look so stupid it's laughable."

That prompted a look of mild to severe outrage on the new faces. One even had the audacity to step out of line. "And just who do you think you are?"

"Someone with intellect, unlike yourself," Edward replied, pacing nonchalantly.

The thug gaped, his few missing teeth becoming more prominent. "Listen, asshole, I ain't afraid of you-"

"Oh that's right, I forgot. Your greatest fears are words that contain more than two syllables." He laughed to himself; at this rate, he could beat Jonathan Crane in discovering fear factors.

At this, the thug snapped. He had to be restrained by a few men near him, but they looked like they were about ready to let him loose. Edward simply stood there, a grin on his face. Maybe he should do initiation ceremonies more...

All struggle ended when the door slammed shut. Edward glanced over to see Eve standing there, a less than pleased look on her face. "Riddler," she stated plainly.

"Painter," he answered with hardly a care in the world.

She nearly stomped up to him, her back faced to her thugs as she angrily whispered near his ear. "_What_ are you doing to _my_ men?"

He turned his head lightly to answer in a similar fashion. "Proving to them how much better I am than them."

Eve sighed heavily while turning around to face her new recruits. "You don't need to insult them to do that."

His eyes lit up. "So you agree with me?"

She choose to ignore him, instead favoring to start the actual ceremony. "I... apologize for his behavior. It _shouldn't_ happen again," she shot daggers at Edward momentarily, "I really do congratulate all of you for completing this, and I'll be looking forward to viewing your pictures.

"Now, the usual rules of mob bosses still apply - most of them, at least. Always follow instructions to the letter, and I don't care if you fight each other, as long as it's not near the paint. All of you will learn how to mix the paint, and I expect you all to remember how to make it in a week.

"Shelter will be provided for you if you need it. I don't pay a lot, but I hope that giving you a roof over your head and some food is good enough to pay for some of it. And other thing: call me Eve. I don't take well to any one of you calling me otherwise." She ended with a pleasant smile.

"So, here are your armbands. I expect you to wear them at all times, unless I order you otherwise. I thank you all for coming to me, and I hope these new relationships will be beneficial to us all." With that, some of her men gave the new recruits the rainbow armbands, and once they had finished putting them on, they were shown to their rooms.

Eve turned back to face Edward, who had an impressed look on his face. "Impressive," he said.

She shrugged, humble. "I've done it enough times to remember exactly what to say."


	7. Incredulousness

**A/N: Guess who's not dead!**

**Sorry about the long... what was it, 2 week wait? Yeesh, I'm horrible. Excuses, excuses, the school year is wrapping up and I have no time to do anything, yaddah yaddah. I apologize in advanced, because it might be a little wait for the next chapter, too. Shouldn't be too long, but just in case.**

**Anyway, thanks for supporting this story by reviewing, favoriting, and following! It means _so_ much to me!**

**Here's the next chapter! I'll admit, this is one of my favorites. Don't know why, but I liked it, and I hope you do too!**

* * *

Eve strolled down the street casually, a breezy grin on her face. She had just sent her men to return to the warehouse with Cobblepot's weapons. While she oversaw the shipment (as to not repeat the utter _fiasco_ with Crane), she felt light-hearted enough to walk herself home. Despite the cold weather only about four days ago, the sun had made a rare appearance in the Gotham sky, and it raised the temperature to make it a comfortable day.

Her cheery mood instantly diminished as a screech of tires roared from behind her. Another squeal followed it. She didn't even have time to glance back when they raced past her, revealing that an armored truck was being followed by an all-black sports car. The tint was far too dark to be legal. Never seeing it before, she instantly assumed it to be the Batmobile, but when the windows rolled down and a masked thug began shooting out of it, she knew it to be otherwise.

Instead, the car belonged to Two-Face.

Eve stood on the sidewalk, frozen, as another truck came from the intersection and T-boned the armored truck, sending it on its side.

She glanced around, surprised and confused that no one was around. That was, until she remembered her location. It was an uninhabitable section of the Narrows, with every door and window boarded up and every wall singed. Ever since that one night Scarecrow teamed up with Firefly to take over Gotham (a part of Gotham's history that _no one_ ever wanted to recall. _No one.),_ this particular section was deemed to undergo construction. Construction never came.

With that in mind, Eve wondered just how the hell she happened among this.

All three vehicles stopped, and the doors opened. Three thugs came from the backseat of the car closest to her (parked a few meters from where she was standing). The driver's side opened and there he was: Two-Face.

Ironically, she only glimpsed at his profile at first. It was his unhampered side, containing smooth black hair, a strong jawline, and full lips. When he turned to give orders to the men nearly in front of her, she saw it all. The bright blue eye on his left side was nearly falling out of its socket, the flesh was horribly warped, and his mouth was pulled back into a perpetual snarl. His suit complimented his appearance; a suit that was half white on his "good" side, and black on his "bad" one. He pulled out a twin set of pistols from his pockets, revealing one arm to also be mutilated. All in all, he didn't look so dissimilar from one of her victims, but, seeing as he was also drenched in acid, she shouldn't be surprised.

A few of his thugs from the truck had managed to bust open the lock on the armored truck, and had begun stuffing the money and gold into bags. Like a scene from an action movie, four police cars had surrounded the intersection. When all the police were on the street, it revealed that two cars had carried cops that had batons, and the others carried guns. It was only when two shots from Two-Face hit a cop directly in the eyes that they began firing.

Eve stood there in slight shock, wondering just _how the hell_ this kind of stuff happened to her. First, Edward contacting her, then, the Joker thinking he needed her help on organizing a crime (and subsequently _getting out of one_), then Scarecrow, Killer Croc, Penguin… and now this. She almost wanted to blame Edward in all of this; if the blasted Riddler hadn't gotten involved, then maybe she could have lived her life as a lower criminal, and not be running into all these other Rogues.

As if fate decided to laugh at her misfortunes once again, Two-Face turned back to her. "Listen, girlie, we're gonna need you to fight. You got a weapon on you?" his deep voice managed to ring out over the sound of gunfire.

Eve gaped for a brief second, then nodded. Ah, her day was already blown to hell because of this, what could some fighting do? _Kill her_? "You don't need to worry about me. I've got my paint."

He subsequently stared at her as if she had three heads, then shrugged. "Ah, whatever. Just help get rid of these cops, will you?"

A smirk tugged at her lips as she pulled out her aerosol can of paint, the paint being neon green today. Eve wasted no time in stepping into the battlezone. A guard carrying a baton approached her. Before he could even lift his weapon, she lifted hers, and sprayed him in the face with the most minimal amount of paint that would still be deadly. The man immediately collapsed, clutching his sizzling face until he knew no more.

"..._Holy shit_," a voice behind her said. She turned to see Two-Face a few feet from her, staring down at the dead policeman with both awe and incredulousness on his face. "Where'd you even get that stuff?"

Eve didn't exactly want to proclaim herself as an up-and-coming Rogue, one that, with time, could rival Two-Face in number of thugs under their belts. Instead, she gave him a secretive grin, then turned to continue the fight.

She had taken down another guard when a loud orchestral piece blared into her ear, making her wince and immediately press the button. Just yesterday, Edward had provided her with an earpiece (a Bluetooth, of sorts). He gave it to her to ensure quick communication in between the two. She had humored him, and told him she would wear it the next day to pick up her gun shipments.

Now, she was severely regretting wearing it.

"Hello?" she snarled out in between clenched teeth. A policeman tried to hit her from behind, but she saw his shadow and ducked, punching him in the gut as she was down.

"_Would you believe the audacity that Batman has to try and outsmart me? This has been a horrible day for me_," Edward's voice angrily belted out on the other end of the line.

The cop managed to block her arm and hit her hand, causing the aerosol can to drop and fall to the ground. She hardly had time to mourn its loss, seeing as how she had to win a fistfight now. "My day's been pretty… horrible, too."

As Edward rambled about his latest scheme to try and beat the Bat, Eve had her hands full in dispatching this policeman. She hardly even heard what he was saying, since gunfire was ringing in her ears, as well as the sounds of their grunting.

Eventually, she surprised the cop with a pushkick to his chest, knocking the wind out of him and sending him back stumbling. Eve reached down for her paint and shot her paint into his neck. Seeing his body on the ground, she stood there for a few seconds, panting.

"_Eve? Eve, are you even listening to me?_" Edward said on the other end of the line.

She sighed. "Look, I'm a bit busy at the moment."

He was silent for a moment, before piping up, "_Are you in a fight?_"

"Maybe."

She could almost envision his smirk. "_Well, if that's what you're doing with yourself nowadays... Try not to get killed, will you?_" With that, he hung up. It took all her willpower not to slap her hand to her forehead.

Her mind was taken off of that by a bullet hitting a stop sign directly behind her. She glanced up, incredulous, to see a cop across the street, reloading. Eve was rather determined to escape this ordeal without a bullet wound, so she sprinted towards him. Since he was too focused looking down to reload, he did not notice her approach him. He would soon regret that decision when he was lying in a pool of his own blood and burning flesh.

The fight lasted for another few minutes. Eventually, Two-Face, his men, and Eve managed to put down all the cops. They knew more were on the way, so they rushed, grabbing whatever they could from the truck.

Two-Face, who was barking out orders on the top of the truck (where he hauled himself up on), suddenly glanced down to face Eve. "Hey, you," he said to catch her attention.

She paused from nursing her bruised cheek and aching abdomen. "Yeah?"

"We appreciate your help. Unfortunately, no one was supposed to know about this little scheme of ours today." He pointed the gun he held on his marred side towards her. Her eyes narrowed and she shifted, uncomfortable.

"But let's let the coin decided." He produced his half-burnt coin from his pocket and flipped it in the air. Eve tensed, ready to run at a moment's notice.

She saw his emotions play out on his face; first distaste, then acceptance. He holstered his gun and then hopped down from the truck with more grace than she thought he would have. "You're in luck: you live. I guess now we'll give you something to compensate for your help."

He reached past where his thugs were busy stuffing money into bags, and pulled out a couple stacks of money and what looked to be a golden necklace of sorts. Two-Face tossed them towards her, and she managed to intercept them before they hit the ground. Eve grinned when she saw the necklace had a ametrine stone attached to it, the gem sparkling purple and brown in the sunlight. She would eagerly add it to her outfit (or sell it if it was hefty enough).

Glancing back at her a final time, he said, "Buy yourself something pretty with that, alright? You look like you need a new jacket, that one's a bit dirty." With that, he returned his attention to the armored truck, completely forgetting about her.

Looking down at the stacks of money in her hand, she was convinced. There were no Rogues. There were no malevolent criminals obsessed with money, or power, or their goals in general. There were no dangers to society that were all determined to kill the Batman in one way or another.

No. They were all, to put it simply, antagonistic fashionistas.


	8. Decisions

**A/N: Heh, I'm not dead!**

**Seriously, where did the time go? Once again, I apologize for being so late...**

**Thanks for the reviews! I'm thinking about rewriting this once I finish it, to tweak things and genuinely try to make it better. It'll take some time, but we'll get there!**

**Anyway, a bit of a crossover in this one, and I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

"Kryptonite," Eve murmured under her breath, her gloved hand skimming over the science magazine article.

"Krypto-_what_?" Edward asked while glancing up from his crossword puzzle. They were lounging in her office, the room being one of the warmest in her warehouse. A blizzard was raging outside, bathing everything in white and rendering the windows useless to look out of.

Eve straightened herself from her slouched position on her couch, leaning to the right so he could see the article with her. "Kryptonite. It's a type of rock from space. It says that it has weird effects on people."

"Magic space rocks? I doubt it."

She shook her head. "Even if they aren't, it's apparently rare and valued enough to be on display at Gotham Museum, courtesy of LexCorp… huh." Her eyes lit up and she glanced at him. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Eve, you had me at 'valued'."

* * *

She had volunteered to be the feet of the operations and Edward was her eyes, staying at her base and keeping surveillance. A day had passed since they devised their plan, and the storm has lost its intensity, but some snow still trickled from the sky.

Eve snuck around the back of the museum, darkness covering her movements. It was far after hours and no one ever guarded the back door. Picking the lock proved difficult, as she wasn't the most talented in that skill, but she managed. The door squeaked horribly as she crept in, alone, but no one seemed to notice. In fact, she was quite positive no one was around, a fact that struck her as odd. There was an abnormal chill in the air and was only being a few degrees warmer than the outside. Museums were kept cool to preserve relative humidity, but when was cool... _too_ cool?

She shook off the thought and crept around to the main exhibit hall, still surprised to see no guards. Despite the lights being off, a green glow emanated from the room. Upon moving closer, she realized it was her objective, the Kryptonite, giving off the ethereal light.

Its glass case was easily dismantled and she stared at it with awe. The rock was one of the most unique, most brightest shade of green she had ever seen. Looking at it, she believed that it couldn't have come from Earth; no, this form of beauty could only come from somewhere in space.

Eve had just grabbed the hand-sized rock from the case, examining it, when clunky footsteps thudded behind her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She turned on her heel, readying herself for who was there, when she came within a few feet of a blue figure.

Her eyes widened once they landed on the cryogenic gun that rested in his hands, and she took a step back. "Freeze," she said, not unkindly.

"And you are the Painter, I presume?" His voice was robotic, monotonous, without emotion… cold. Then again, perhaps not completely; there seemed to be an underlying tone of urgency, or impatience, that made her curious.

"That I am. What are you doing here?" Eve saw his attention avert to the glowing green shard in her hand, his red-covered eyes intense.

"Studies have shown that Kryptonite can cause mutations of strength and regeneration within humans," he answered.

One of her eyebrows arched. "And…?"

"It is one of my hypotheses that Kryptonite could accelerate the regeneration of healthy blood cells in Nora, and destroy the sick cells," he continued, his face losing some of its hardness as he spoke of his wife.

His _wife,_ of course. Eve mentally berated herself for not realizing it sooner. Victor Fries was arguably the most sympathetic of the Gotham Rogues, according to both Edward and some testimonials from her thugs. The majority - if not all - of his crimes were executed in order to help restore funds to cure his wife. His dedication to Nora was quite astounding, she believed.

Eve wasn't quite sure how to respond, as she now felt a pang of guilt and selfishness run through her. Here she was, wanting the Kryptonite for her own monetary gains, and there he was, needing the rock to test and see if it would help his sick, dying wife. It conflicted her to no end, and she panicked, her gaze flicking from Freeze to the Kryptonite, then back to Freeze again.

Freeze didn't look happy to see she was in his way. "I request you hand over the Kryptonite now, or I will forcibly take it from you." He held up his gun, the mechanics in it beginning to glow a bright blue as it charged.

She winced, not liking the situation at all. She was another Rogue, for god's sake; giving a valuable object over to another person just wasn't something a Rogue _did,_ dying spouses aside. A thought raced through her, wondering what Edward would do in this situation, or if he was watching her conflicted self with disdain; why didn't she just _run_?

But oh, sympathetic she was. Throwing his cold demeanor and dangerous weapons to the side, Freeze was a lot like a kicked puppy, trying so hard to help the one thing in his life that made him happy, but nothing working. The Kryptonite, however, that was new, something that had never been in Gotham before; at least, not to her knowledge. It was from space too, which means there was no way Freeze could've tested it before. This could be a breakthrough in restoring Nora, and here she was, debating running away with it to sell it. Rogue status be damned, how _cruel_ was that?

With a sigh, Eve made her decision, and lifted the hand that held the Kryptonite out in front of her. Freeze's gun was lowered to his side as he approached, taking the rock from her and analyzing it shortly. More harshness in his face left him as he glanced back up at her. "Thank you for this, Painter. I am glad to see we could come to a peaceful agreement."

She nodded, a sincere grin spreading onto her lips before she could stop it. "I hope it helps with Nora, Freeze. I really do. Good luck." With a final nod, he turned and began to make his way out of the museum.

Eve watched him go for a small time, until her earpiece blared and she quickly answered it. She could barely get out a greeting when Edward's voice cut in sharply, _"What was that?"_

"What was what?"

_"You just… _gave_ Freeze the Kryptonite! How stupid are you?"_

She sighed, her feet beginning to move on their own accord out of the museum from the same way she had come. "It's not called being stupid, Edward, it's called 'doing the right thing'."

_"And the 'right thing' includes allowing an obsessed ice cube to take a priceless rock from space?"_

Her left eye began to twitch, a sign of her becoming quickly annoyed. Freeze wasn't an 'obsessed ice cube' to her. She certainly didn't appreciate Edward's jab at a Rogue that she found herself _not_ disliking. "Yes, it does, especially when it involves a dying wife that he would do anything for. Do you know how much dedication that takes? More dedication that the either of us, maybe _anybody,_ has given something before."

His end of the line was quiet for around a minute or so, enough for her the leave the museum in silence. "_You're a very kind person, you know that?"_

A scoff bubbled from her lips before she could stop it. Her, Eve Thaler, creator of _acidic_ paint, murderer; _kind_? The thought in itself was ridiculous. She detested the majority of people, she killed without a second thought, her moral code was completely messed up…!

"Yeah, right. A nice thought. I appreciate the sentiment."

He answered quickly, _"Think about it. You give your thugs shelter, you helped Two-Face when you could've just ran, and now look at you, handing over Kryptonite to Freeze."_

She opened the door to her van with more force than necessary, annoyed with the conversation. "That doesn't mean anything. I've killed people."

_"Well, I'm not saying you're perfect, but you handled that situation in far nicer way than I would have,"_ Edward replied, seemingly unperturbed by her frustration.

She had just placed the key into the ignition when she stopped momentarily. "I think you would've given him it, too."

Eve could almost envision his raised brow. _"Oh? And what makes you think that?"_

"You may be sociopathic, but I think you would've realized that giving the Kryptonite to Freeze was a good idea."

_"I think the fact that I cannot fathom why _you_ did it in the first place disproves your theory,"_ Edward retorted.

"Well, then maybe it would've been the huge gun in his hand that would make you pass it over... Anyway, I'll be back in a few minutes."

She thought he would hang up, and judging by his silence, she thought he did. So, when his voice piped up halfway through her drive, she jumped. _"You're really not bad, Eve. A few crimes does not relinquish your kindness."_

Her brow furrowed on its own accord. Suddenly, she was very glad he couldn't see her, or he would've seen the noticeable blush that spread across her cheeks. "...Thanks, Edward."


End file.
